Orphan Shadows
by Osiris Ra
Summary: Very loosely based on concepts from Dark Shadows, Sarah Manning arrives in Collinsport Maine after a mysterious yearlong absence to reunite with her daughter. But when she discovers Kira has been kidnapped amidst a slew of bizarre murders plaguing Collinsport, Sarah is thrown headfirst into a dark, supernaturally charged conspiracy that will threaten the existence of life as she kn


**_"My name is Sarah Manning. I came to Collinwood to learn the secrets of my past, but what I found was a dark and terrifying mystery in the present. Three other women share my face… and none of us are safe. We struggle to discover what we are before the monster in the shadows finds and destroys us all."_**

**CHAPTER 1 | Enter, Sarah Manning**

The train station is cold, dappled in flickering neon light, and time worn. Many trains have passed through. Many passengers. And in the neon she can see some of their loitering, pacing figures. Engaged on cellphones and tablets. Impatient for the sounds and lights of delayed trains. _Waiting_.

But Sarah Manning has _arrived_, and the only thing she is waiting for is someone to answer her ringing cellphone. Her booted toes tap a beat against the concrete. _Ringgg. Ringgg. Ringgg._ Mrs. S's irreverent Irish accent answers with a pre-recorded apology for being absent and crisply instructs her to leave a message.

Sarah Manning sighs, and her next call is for a cab.

Racing along an immense cliff, the road home becomes cobblestone bumpy. The taxi driver informs her that he hasn't been this way in a long time and for both their pleasures he's chosen the _scenic_ route. Rushing air through the rolled down window is welcome and so is the smell of the foaming chrome blue bay below, dashing against the cliffs. The mixed orange, yellow and red palette of the surrounding foliage evoke an impending Fall and for a serene moment, Sarah imagines a better time, full of family and holiday celebrations. The angular houses dotting the countryside with their warm windows pulsing with yellow light and steaming smokestacks are, she _presumes_, full of cozy postcard scenes. Tables being set with hot, golden turkeys and steaming, buttery pies. Grandfathers telling stories of the old days and drunken Aunts cackling with their sisters in the kitchen. Mothers and fathers picking wines while their hyper, sweet potato-filled children race after each other, endangering priceless china.

Imaginary Sarah picks a roasted hazelnut off of a nearby platter and bids her goodbye to the idealization. Stepping out of the alternate universe and returning to the steady rumbling existence of the taxicab, the daydream ends with her breathing in salty air suddenly and stiffly. Sarah rolls the window up, feeling inexplicably gutted.

The sinking sensation in her stomach only worsens as the taxi rolls into downtown Collinsport. Cobblestone becomes cracked concrete and the ride is _unsettlingly_ calm. The driver glances surreptitiously from window to window as the landscape changes around them. Past the cozy central downtown, past the quiet Inn and out of town, Collinsport grows increasingly gothic. The peaks of a strange mansion slowly emerge on the horizon as the cab snakes along a narrow road, and momentarily, like a landed alien spacecraft, rolls to a stop before a monolithic Victorian abode, both sinister and serene. Taxi driver and passenger alike take a moment to gape in awe.

Thanking and paying the driver, Sarah shuts the door. The cab reverses and departs – _quickly_. Sarah shrugs her pack over her shoulder and with hesitant, crunching steps, hoofs it the rest of the way to the Collinwood Estate gate. She is diminutive against the scenery, as solitary and lonesome as the single gull perched atop a nearby post, observing the unsuspecting human below.

The gate is buzzed. Sarah Manning waits. The gull, bored, departs and takes flight across the Bay.

After a long year, the troubled traveller has returned home.

•

As the sun sets, a fogged gloom rises over the Collinwood Estate, and strange shadows creep into the time-vintaged corners of the mansion one poor orphan wretch called Sarah Manning grew up in. The gates open, allowing her to process with trepidation to the great oak door; to press the next bell and enter a foyer full of the faces she abandoned after so long.

It's a small environmental upset which brings her to a premature halt and a furrow to her brow as she approaches the stairs. A latent fluttering of leathery wings. Bats?


End file.
